Hank Williams, You Wrote My Life
by Mandi5
Summary: Teddy thinks about his life with Rayna. I've only watched up to episode 4 here in the UK so I'm a long way behind. Nashville combines a great story with my love for country music which goes back over 40 years and that's why I'm loving this series so much. Please read and review.


**Hank Williams, You Wrote My Life.**

**By **

**Mandi  
**

"_**You wrote Your Cheatin' Heart about, A gal like my first ex-wife.**_

_**You Moan The Blues for me and for you, Hank Williams, you wrote my life." **_

Teddy lit the fire with a match and sat back on his heels in front of it. He stared into it for a moment or two, silently watching the flames flickering and dancing over the logs as they caught at them and enveloped the wood in their grasp, holding them and caressing them with a promise of warmth and then eventual death as they began to consume them with their heat.

The flames reminded him of Rayna - not just her red hair, but her fiery spirit and occasionally, her very fiery temper, and right now they reminded him of all those things. But in the flickering fire where the logs were slowly turning to ashes the thing he was most reminded of was his marriage to her, and how it was slowly turning to ashes. And right now that was the last thing in the world he wanted to be reminded of.

Angrily, he rose to his feet and paced the room a few times. Thinking about her was messing with both his head and his heart. Why? Because no matter how much he hated her and their marriage, and they way everything in his life seemed to be on the verge of going so wrong, a part of him still loved her and wanted her. And a part of him still wanted it to be all right between them again.

But right now, it was just a small part of him.

He stopped pacing around the room and reached for a bottle of red wine on the sideboard, glanced at it - an expensive Cabernet Sauvignon from Australia. He shrugged in acceptance - it would do what he needed it to do - and opened it, smiling as the cork give a reassuring pop as he did so.

He found a tall-stemmed glass and filled it almost to the brim with the wine.

He sank into the sofa and watched the fire again for a few moments then took a sip of the wine. He read the label on the back of the bottle - _rich and full-bodied with subtle hints of blackberries and an enticing under taste of vanilla _- the label told him.

Yeah, right. Whatever, he thought and took another sip. He couldn't detect any taste of blackberries, or vanilla. Which was a good thing. If he'd wanted blackberries or vanilla he'd have gone to the refrigerator and got himself some ice cream instead. This tasted like it was supposed to taste. Like red wine. And that was exactly what he wanted right now.

There were other things he wanted. A wife who really loved him. More money. A little less of the fear that was always lurking in the corners of his mind and his soul.

_What do I really want? _He asked himself.

He stared into the fire, absentmindedly sipping at the wine, not aware that he'd almost finished the glass already.

He looked at his watch. It was twenty past one in the morning. Lyrics from an old song popped into his head.

_**I know that feeling, so cold, so real When The Blues Come Around at midnight.**_

He chased them away with another mouthful of wine. Okay, it was well after midnight now but it's the same feeling.

The girls were in bed, fast asleep and dreaming the dreams that all little girls dream. He'd checked on them a while ago and he'd stood there at the foot of their beds, watching them as they slept, still marvelling at the wonder of these two perfect angels he had created with Rayna, and he felt almost overwhelmed by how much he loved them. He could see their mother in them.

_I wish it could be as perfect as it seems, _he thought. _I wish Rayna loved me as much as she pretends to do._

She did - pretend. He knew that in his heart. She was open, loving, passionate - but, like the star she was, it was always an act. The warmth he felt when she was near, when she held him, was an act. It was all part of her image and he was just a bit player in - "**The Rayna James Show!**" He was an extra - a faithful husband and father, waiting at home - that was his role in her life.

He wasn't the love of her life - that role was reserved for Deacon Claybourne. He'd been her first. I'm her second. Second love. Second choice. Second everything.

_**The Cold, Cold Heart and a doubtful mind I have known a few myself**_

She wasn't here. As usual she was somewhere else. Working. Singing. Making love to Deacon maybe. Anywhere but with him.

And he needed her. He needed her to tell him she loved him - only him. He needed her to hold him and kiss him and make love to him. And, most importantly, he needed her to take the fear away.

If only he could tell her.

He sighed and looked at his empty glass. That was the one thing he couldn't tell her. He couldn't show his weakness to her. He had to be strong, or if not strong, at least appear to be. She hated weakness in a man.

_Then why do you love Deacon - Mr. Weak and Dependant? Why do you love him, Rayna? Why?_

Because - she would shrug and reply, giving him no real explanation. She couldn't. Her love for Deacon was a fundamental part of her make up. It was just there. No matter how much she tried to deny it, or kill it, it was there, and he accepted it and he still loved her in spite of it.

But it hurt. Knowing that Deacon was her first love and he was her second. Always second. Always the runner up.

I have the house, the children and the beautiful super star wife, everything a man could ever wish for, but he has her heart and soul. And he always will have this part of her.

Teddy poured another glass of wine and stared into the fire. The flames were higher now, stronger and he felt the heat from the burning wood. It warmed him in a way that Rayna no longer did.

She'd always been stronger than him. She had been the one who decided everything from the colour of the sofa he was sitting on to the wallpaper he now stared at. To the shrubs in the garden and the shape of the swimming pool out back. He'd let her, knowing that she knew instinctively what worked and what didn't. Just like her music, Just like the songs she sang. She knew instinctively whether a song was good, great or just mediocre, whereas he just heard the music and he either liked it or he didn't.

A smile touched the corner of his lips. Deep down he didn't even like country music. It was too full of slushy daytime-soap-opera crap. Too many hearts and guitars and too much crying into a glass of beer. . . . and love and hate and all that crap. Maybe it summed up his life. Maybe in his wife's eyes he was just another country song.

Funny how it would be so much easier if he'd had an affair. He could have explained it away so easily. _"You have Deacon. You've always had Deacon,_" he would have argued. _"Who do I have?" _he would have asked. _"I needed someone too, Rayna. I needed someone to love me. The way I wanted you to love me." _

He'd make a great country song. Hell, he was already living the lyrics. His wife was - "_**the gal that loved me Half As Much as she loves somebody else."**_

He closed his eyes. Shutting out her image. He chased it away in the hope that he could find some peace. He tilted the glass to his lips and finished the last of the bottle of wine. Then with a sigh, he turned off the lights and went upstairs to bed.

Where he would wait for her to come home to him. And he prayed that she would, because he loved her.

* * *

I don't own Nashville or any of it's characters. The title of this fic and the opening verse and incidental lyrics in _**bold italic **_throughout this fic was written by Paul Craft & performed by Moe Bandy. This fan fic is for entertainment only.


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